


A Gift for Papa Jaune

by Burnadette_dpdl



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, vcsecretgifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9011536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burnadette_dpdl/pseuds/Burnadette_dpdl
Summary: For one of their early Christmases together as a family, Claudia has a special gift for Papa Jaune. Some of the smallest gifts turn out to be the very best ;D





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrrHatLet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrHatLet/gifts).



> Beta-read by @Rebness, thanks bb!
> 
> Prompt: “I would like a cutesy little oneshot/AU with Claudia, Lestat, and Louis enjoying Christmas morning (or evening). 
> 
> I am over 18. If any positive/believable Lestat and Claudia interaction were possible that would be good.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

  **(Louis, Christmas Eve)**

 

I had gone out early tonight; I had no other choice as I was quite drained, having foregone feeding the night before as it was taken over entirely by final holiday preparations. We had decorated the flat on the first night of December, our second Christmas with a tree because it was our second Christmas with Claudia; and in fact, she had lovingly made many of the ornaments. I felt whole and warm, glad to return to the festive scene as I turned the key and entered the darkened flat. The only sound was the low chattering of the birds in their cages and I lit a few lamps, assumed I was alone, that Claudia and Lestat had gone out for their own time together.

A few minutes after settling onto the couch in the front parlor, Claudia appeared, bounding down the steps in a pearlescent gown, her drawing pad and folio clutched tightly to her chest.

“Papa Noir, you’re home! Where are my pencils, where are my watercolors?” She demanded, glancing in at me, and then proceeded down the hallway.

“Are they not where you always keep them?”

“They’re not _there!_ ” Came the shout from the less-used dining room. I rose to my feet and followed the clattering sounds as she pulled open every drawer and cabinet in the room.

At length, we found the drawing materials in the linen closet, where they had been wrapped in a silk scarf, and hidden as part of a game of make-believe some nights ago. Arms full of supplies, she marched straight back upstairs to the desk in the space between our bedrooms, and adjusted a lamp for her purposes.

“What’s all this, what are we drawing tonight, _ma chérie?”_

“I’m finishing a portrait of Papa Jaune.” She said as she carefully pulled the single sheet from her folio and placed it onto the desk blotter. She lined it up, her tiny fingernails at the edges of the page. “I started this already, it’s my present for him for Christmas,” She studied it for a moment longer before looking up at me with wide and wondering eyes. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

It was indeed Lestat from the shoulders up, smiling as he did when lit with the excitement of the theatre. I was struck by the confidence of her lines, the way she had captured the particular wave of his hair, the depth and sparkle in his eyes. Although it was in grayscale, it suggested color by the shading she had done, the barest shadow on his face where one of the main locks of hair cascaded ruggedly across his forehead.

“It’s lovely. You’ve really captured him.” I said. She kneeled on the chair for extra hieght, satisfied, and went to work, darkening some areas, making the overall image sharper.

“One of his fangs seems a little larger than the other-” I began.

 _“Papa Noir,”_ she sighed heavily as if this was too much effort to bother with. “That’s called ‘ _perspective_.’ ”

“Oh? And what does ‘perspective’ do?”

“It makes what you’re drawing look more real, because,” she huffed. “Well, certain parts of the object are closer to the viewer than the _other_ parts,” she gestured with her hands, one closer to me and the other further. “See, the closer one looks bigger because it’s closer to _you_ , but it’s not really _bigger_ at all.” She said, her voice earnest.

“I see.”

I left her to finish her work, and later, when she was ready, I helped her to wrap it in a fine red paper. She had learned to tie a bow herself when we wrapped gifts for her tutors, our neighbors and friends last year, and for this gift, she created a veritable garden of bows in all of the ribbon colors we had. Finally, a small card on top indicated that this was a gift for Lestat and she placed it lovingly under the tree.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

**(Lestat, Christmas Night)**

 

I awoke before Louis and Claudia, as always, and dressed in a thick wine-red silk robe and matching slippers. Undead or not, there was no getting away from the simmering joy I felt building up inside for our second Christmas! In the six years since taking Louis for my own, those four forgotten Christmases had grated on my soul. There had been no reason to celebrate then, and I had gone out those nights to avoid the depression emanating off of him.

Last year had been a rebirth for us. Claudia’s pleasure had infected us both and every surprise for her could be enjoyed by all. She had helped choose the tree, pointing it out with a lace-gloved finger, not the largest, but the roundest. She had known how to make ornaments for the tree that year, much to our delight, and had only asked for the colorful paper and yarn with which to do it. This year brought fresh ornaments with more elaborate designs as she had been working on her artistic endeavors; these were worth more to me than any crystal or glass baubles money could buy.

I went downstairs with the wrapped gifts, placing them all under the tree. So many gifts, they made a neat mountain range! As I arranged them, I noticed what appeared to be a loose pile of ribbons and snatched it up absent-mindedly. I saw that the ribbons were merely the elaborate topping to a small, flat package. The little card on top had… my name on it? In Claudia’s fine but distinctly childlike handwriting. I was touched, a little flare of love for her. It was the smallest package of all, but I have come to learn that wonderful things can come in small packages.

An hour later, I heard Louis and Claudia stirring upstairs. Claudia splashing her face to wake up for the evening, Louis doing the same at his own basin, and they both came downstairs, slippered, and in the robes I had bought for them. Louis in dark green, Claudia in pale gold.

“Santa came! Santa was _here!”_ Claudia cried out, rushing to the tree and taking stock of the gifts. Louis joined me on the couch and I put my arm around him.

“Yes, it looks like we’ve been visited,” I smiled. She sat on the floor, the gold fabric almost the same color as her hair, and she herself looked like a wrapped gift. I drew Louis in tighter and kissed his cheek.

“All the gifts made it to the tree, Lestat?” He whispered.

“Oui, _mon ange._ Including our daughter.”

Claudia twisted around to scoff at me. “I’m not a gift! But here’s one for you, Papa Jaune…” She climbed to her feet and in her hands was the smallest gift in the pile. She brought it forward to me reverently.

My heart swelled, _What did I do to deserve this sweet and tender girl,_ a child who, faced with a pile of gifts, mostly with her own name on them, wants me to have the honor of opening the first of them all? “Merci, Claudia,” I said, taking the gift as reverently as she had handed it to me. I lifted her up and set her on my lap, and began to turn the gift around, looking for a way to open it without disturbing the ribbons.

The tension was palpable and she grinned widely, leaning her face close to mine, her tiny fang teeth on display. Only at home with us could she smile like this; in public, she’s been taught to cover her mouth with her hand or a monogrammed handkerchief so as not to frighten anyone. Unless she _wanted_ to frighten.

“Oh just open it, Papa!” She said, tugging at my arm.

“Alright! I was trying not to ruin the wrappings but alright,” I said, fingering a corner and opening one side like an envelope.

The gift was a portrait of my own face, and shoulders, the suggestion of one of my favorite vests with a gold floral pattern, a faint splash of teal color. I held it by the edges. She had drawn all of the features fairly accurately, and proportionately, in a three-quarter view. With no reference, drawn purely from memory!

No one had ever drawn a picture of me before, well, except for Nicolas. He had done a few crude caricatures meant to taunt me. Those were rather unflattering but I had kept them, treasured them until the night we were separated.

“Well, do you _like_ it?” Claudia pouted. I had been silent too long. I hugged her tightly and then released her.

“I _adore_ it. It’s marvelous! All of the details, the subtle watercolor, the way you drew my eyes, it reminds me of-” I was just about to say Gabrielle, and for a moment, I felt a chill to my core. Would Gabrielle ever meet Louis, or our daughter? “My reflection in the mirror!” I finished.

“Silly, your reflection _is_ your face!” She shoved at my shoulder.

“You have made a marvelous work of art, _ma petite._ Marvelous!” I kissed her hand. “A real artist.” She nodded approvingly.

“But are my fangs really that different in size?” I grimaced, revealing them, and pretended to try to measure them by touch alone. “Louis, what do you think?” He reached out a finger to touch one and then the other. It was wholly possible that I’d never noticed a difference, perhaps she had!

Claudia groaned, tossing her head back. Her curls bounced and she shoved at them. “It’s called _‘perspective,’_ and the one in front _has_ to look bigger than the other one, but they are the _same_ size!” She said. She smiled again. _Little girl with all the answers._

I nodded. “Okay, but I think we should probably measure, _just to be sure.”_ She let out a squeal of laughter and then brought her face close to mine, menacing, foreheads touching, and she growled playfully.

“No measuring, no measuring! I trust you!” I said, acquiescing. She snuggled in against my chest. All this time and she still had no interest in _any_ of the other gifts under the tree!

“Do you ever make art?” Claudia asked softly. “I’ve never seen you draw.”

_Yes, Nicolas taught me how to draw a few things, hearts and such._

“No, I don’t draw. But I make music, that’s an art. And Louis and I made _you._ ”

Claudia giggled. “I’m not art!”

“Yes you are. You’re a _masterpiece_.” I said.

“How am I art? What’s a masterpiece?”

“You’re beautiful, and sweet, and gentle and kind… and talented!” I said, stroking her hair.

“A masterpiece is usually considered the best of an artist’s works, what he’s most known for creating. He may have one masterpiece, or more than one.” Louis explained.

She sat up, and leaned back in my arms and her gaze was piercing. “But art is something you hang on a wall, isn’t it?”

“Not all art. Sculpture, glassware, ceramics…”  Louis said, gesturing at a vase nearby. “Art doesn’t need to hang on a wall.”

“Or, as I said, _music_ , that’s also an art.” I added. And then, striking a pose and making a dramatic face, “Or the art of the _theatre!”_

She seemed to accept all this and her expression softened, then she looked down at her hands.

“But… how am I art, how do you make a… me?” Louis and I exchanged a glance. This was not the first time this had come up, but we had discussed privately that we would tell her when the right time came.

“That’s a long story, for another night, but suffice it to say, Louis and I made you together, and you are our masterpiece, no doubt about it!” I said, giving her another kiss on her cheek.

She considered, and then: “Don’t make any more art like me. Ever!”

I couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Never? Never _ever?”_

“You said a masterpiece is an artist’s best ever, so yes, you don’t need to make any more! Promise.” She asked very sternly. I met her gaze for a moment.

“Well, it’s settled then.” I looked at Louis. “No more masterpieces like Claudia.”

“You too, Louis! Never ever ever!” She squeezed his hand with both of hers.

“Alright, _ma petite_. Never ever ever.” He agreed. She gave us each a quick peck on the lips, and then happily slipped back down to run over and make her onslaught on the Christmas gifts.


End file.
